


Can't WE Try

by eggsbenni221



Category: Bridget Jones (Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-09
Updated: 2018-05-09
Packaged: 2019-05-04 12:02:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14592624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsbenni221/pseuds/eggsbenni221
Summary: “Becky, listen, I hate to ask, but I wondered—do you think you could come round? It’s just. . . something’s happened, and you’re the only person I can really talk to.”“Of course, I’ll come straight away, but what’s wrong? You sound really upset.” When he didn’t reply, she added gently, “is this about Bridget?”The painful lump that rose in Mark’s throat made it difficult for him to speak. “I think we’ve just split up.”EOR film universe; picks up just after the breakup scene. typos and formatting errors are mine; please feel free to point them out.





	Can't WE Try

Mark Darcy sat slumped on the sofa, head in his hands, silently cursing his stupidity. The scotch he’d poured himself pooled in the pit of his stomach, churning sickeningly with the accusations Bridget had forced him to swallow before walking out the door and, he feared, out of his life. He ought to have realized that the pressure points in their relationship had been threatening to rupture—first with the pregnancy scare on their minibreak, then with both their mothers clucking incessantly at them to settle down respectably. Even without those complications, Bridget’s suspicion that Mark was secretly involved with Rebecca would naturally have activated her defense mechanism, but had that been the only problem he had to contend with, he suspected he might have been able to talk her round to a rational way of thinking. Tonight, however, when she’d been unfortunate enough to hear Rebecca’s answerphone message about popping round, she’d likely already been building a case against him, and the timing of Rebecca’s call had simply given her the momentum she needed to unleash her frustration on him. 

Bridget’s accusation hurt Mark not least because it was unfounded, but because it laid bare her doubt in his love for her. How could she think for a moment that she wasn’t good enough—that he didn’t think her worthy of his love and respect? Upon reflection, Mark realized that her suspicions, if untrue, weren’t altogether illogical, but if she’d truly believed he loved her—if he’d worked harder to prove himself to her—would she have leapt to that conclusion? Mark, of course, had the benefit of context that Bridget lacked; Rebecca had no interest in him precisely because she had no interest in men whatsoever. She’d shared this with Mark in confidence, stipulating that it not go any further for fear of the backlash it might elicit from some of his more conservative-minded colleagues. Mark had promised to keep her confidence, never imagining that his vow of silence would be put to the test until Bridget accused him of having an affair with Rebecca. Her words had activated a fierce battle within his conscience between his righteous indignation over the accusation and his promise to safeguard Rebecca’s secret. On the one hand, telling Bridget the truth about Rebecca would easily absolve him of guilt; on the other, he would betray the trust one woman had placed in him for the sake of the other. His love for Bridget ought to have made the decision a simple one, but his conscience prickled over the dilemma. He’d pledged his word to Rebecca, but he’d pledged his love to Bridget. Then too, why should he betray Rebecca’s trust to justify himself? Bridget must know he would never be unfaithful to her—not when they’d both been betrayed that way in the past. Ultimately, anger and frustration had overridden better judgement, and instead of soothing her doubts, he’d dismissed them out of hand, refusing, as he’d so glibly put it, to dignify her question with an answer. What was the point, he wondered, of trying to do the right thing if it left him on the wrong side? Damn it, he needed to fix this, and he could see only one way forward. He tossed back the remainder of his drink and poured a second before reaching for the phone. 

“Hello?” 

“Becky, it’s Mark. I’m sorry to call so late.” 

“Oh, Mark, hi! Don’t be silly. I’m glad you called, but I didn’t expect to hear back from you tonight.” 

“Well, I got your message, so I thought I’d just give you a ring.” 

“I thought Bridget might still be there.” 

“She was, but she’s. . . gone now.” 

“Oh, I see.” Rebecca drew in a breath before continuing. “Um, is everything okay? How did lunch with the parents go?” 

“It was a total disaster, honestly.” 

“Oh no,” she murmured. “I’m so sorry. What happened?” He hesitated, helping himself to another swallow of scotch. “Mark, what’s wrong?” 

Mark dragged a hand through his hair, struggling to find the words. “Becky, listen, I hate to ask, but I wondered—do you think you could come round? It’s just. . . something’s happened, and you’re the only person I can really talk to.” 

“Of course, I’ll come straight away, but what’s wrong? You sound really upset.” When he didn’t reply, she added gently, “is this about Bridget?” 

The painful lump that rose in Mark’s throat made it difficult for him to speak. “I think we’ve just split up.” 

* * *

Less than an hour later, Rebecca sat across from Mark on the sofa, tapping her fingers against the rim of her wine glass. Beside her, Mark stared broodingly into the contents of his own drink. His gaze, whether from his distracted thoughts or the dulling effects of the alcohol, seemed unfocused. 

“Mark,” she said gently, resting a hand on his arm. He lifted his eyes to meet hers. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

“I’m not even sure I know,” he sighed, massaging the dull ache beginning to press against his temples. 

“Was it the lunch with your parents?” Rebecca prompted. “You mentioned it didn’t go very well.” 

“I suppose that must have started it. They were pestering us about when we plan to get married.”

Rebecca frowned. “But you and Bridget haven’t been going out for very long.” 

Mark gave a humorous laugh. “Our mothers have been flinging us at each other’s heads for ages. It’s not all that surprising, really, but I still felt ambushed.” 

“Well, I’m sure you handled the question with your usual diplomacy.” 

“I thought I did. It’s never easy to deflect a question like that diplomatically, and I certainly didn’t want Bridget—or her mother, for that matter—thinking I’m not serious about us, but we’ve only been together a short time—just starting to find a comfortable rhythm. It wouldn’t surprise me if our mothers have been secretly planning the whole thing, but I honestly didn’t feel ready for that conversation, so I simply explained that we weren’t thinking about that yet.” 

“And did Bridget agree with you?” 

“I thought she did, but I misjudged, apparently. She seemed to interpret my response as hedging, given that she turned around tonight and asked me, point-blank, if I wanted to marry her.” 

“And, um, do you?” Rebecca asked tentatively. Mark’s jaw tensed, and he willed himself not to swear in frustration; Rebecca’s question was entirely reasonable. He couldn’t blame her if he didn’t have a definitive answer. 

“I meant what I said this afternoon; we’re not thinking about that yet.” 

“Maybe you’re not,” Rebecca pointed out, “but that doesn’t mean Bridget isn’t. Maybe you haven’t discussed it together, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t given it any thought herself. I expect she just didn’t appreciate you assuming what was going through her mind.” 

‘Christ,’ Mark thought. Why hadn’t he seen that? 

“So is that what you argued about?” 

Mark reached for his drink, noticed he’d finished it, and splashed another measure of scotch into the glass, which he quickly drained before replying. “That was. . . part of what we argued about. At least, it triggered this arsenal of accusations that she decided to launch at my head. It was madness—this horrible onslaught of things—that I was embarrassed by her, that I’m not romantic or affectionate enough, that I’m basically looking for someone in the VIP lounge who’s so fantastic just the way she is that I don’t need to fix her. Honestly, what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Rebecca smiled. “Well, it’s obvious, isn’t it?” 

“Not to me, apparently.” 

“Mark, don’t take this the wrong way, but it was all there, if you were listening to what she said. She doesn’t think she’s good enough for you.” 

“But why,” he demanded. 

Rebecca rested her chin in her hands, thinking. “I’m just guessing,” she said finally, “but it must be pretty hard for her sometimes; she’s so authentic and down-to-earth, nothing at all like a lot of the women you work with—all those posh, law society ladies.” 

“For Christ’s sake, that’s ridiculous. Doesn’t she realize I love her precisely because she’s not like that? Hell, if I wanted that life, I’d just have married Natasha and gone off to New York, and we’d have been this perfect, power couple holding court in some stuffy office., but the problem with that life is that the higher you climb, the further away you get from the person you really are. To be honest, I didn’t fully realize that until I started going out with Bridget. Bridget is vibrant and warm and funny and opinionated and, well, utterly bizarre sometimes, frankly, but there’s something wonderfully infectious about that. Real life is messy and chaotic and unpredictable; it’s not about pretentiously going through the motions and performing the narrative everyone expects you to.” “Why didn’t you tell her all this? This is precisely what she needs to hear.” Mark hesitated. “I. . . haven’t told you everything.” He reached again for his drink, thought better of it, and lowered his head into his hands. “Bridget thinks I’m having an affair.” 

Rebecca’s eyes widened. “But why on Earth would she--” 

“With you,” he added. “How could she?” 

“Well,” Rebecca said thoughtfully, “to be fair, I’m around quite a lot, and if she doesn’t know I’m not attracted to men, it wouldn’t be hard to jump to the wrong conclusion. I’m not saying she shouldn’t have trusted you; you’re the last man in the world I’d suspect of cheating, but Bridget, well, she seems pretty impulsive, so it doesn’t surprise me that she’d be suspicious of me, if not of you.” 

Mark nodded. “I don’t entirely blame her. She’s been hurt in the past, and I understand how that sense of betrayal alters one’s perceptions, but I thought she knew me better than that.” 

“So, um, did you tell her everything—about me, I mean? Surely that would have cleared things up.” 

“I. . . neglected to mention it,” Mark admitted.

“What?” Rebecca began to laugh; then clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. 

“I’m glad you find this amusing,” Mark grumbled, deciding after all to refill his drink and ignoring his now slightly unsteady hand as he did. 

“I’m sorry, Mark. It’s just, don’t you think you’re being a bit oblivious? I mean, look at it from Bridget’s perspective; that time she came round and found me here—at night, no less—without any context or understanding of why, and then--” She paused, frowning slightly. “Did Bridget hear the message I left on your answerphone tonight?” Mark nodded. “Oh God, no wonder! That would sound suspicious to anyone! So what happened? I’m guessing that’s when she asked you if we were having an affair.” Again, Mark nodded. “And what did you say?” 

“I said I. . .” He faltered; words were beginning to feel soft and slippery on his tongue, their edges melting together. “I said I wouldn’t dignify the question with an answer,” he confessed finally. Rebecca winced. “What was I supposed to say?” 

“Well, at the very least, you could have tried not to sound as if you were just dismissing her concerns out of hand, for a start. Why didn’t you just explain everything to her? Then you’d have been off the hook, and the two of you would probably be sitting here now laughing about it instead of you pouring your drunken sorrows into my lap. Not that I mind,” she assured him. 

“I promised you I wouldn’t tell,” Mark protested wearily. 

“Oh, mark.” Dimly, through the anesthetic cushioning effect of the alcohol, Mark registered Rebecca moving in to wrap him in a hug, and he let his head drop to her shoulder. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “You can fix this.” 

“It isn’t. I’ve made a mess of everything, Becky.” 

“No, no, of course you haven’t,” she soothed. 

Mark lifted his head slowly. “Haven’t I?” 

“Well, okay, a bit, but you had good intentions. I appreciate that you wanted to keep my confidence and everything; that was really, really honorable of you, but I only asked you to keep it to yourself because, well, you know what some of your colleagues in chambers are like.” 

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

“But Bridget is different. She seems so open and genuine and like she sees who people really are, not what others judge them to be.” 

“So you think I should tell her?” 

Rebecca laughed. “I don’t think you have a choice now. It will explain everything, and if Bridget really cares for you, she’ll understand, once she’s had time to think about it. You certainly could have handled the situation a bit more diplomatically, but you were in an awkward position too.” 

Mark sighed. “Why can’t she just trust me?” 

“It’s not that simple,” said Rebecca. “If Bridget was already starting to feel insecure in the relationship, if she was starting to doubt your feelings for her because she didn’t think herself good enough for you--” 

“But none of that’s true,” Mark interrupted. 

“I know it isn’t, and you know it isn’t, but you have to try to imagine how Bridget feels. Insecurities have this way of trying to shake your confidence in yourself and in others, and if her insecurities flagged me as a threat, it can be hard to see past that.” 

Mark lowered his head into his hands again, massaging his temples. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.” 

“I’m sure everything’s going to be okay, Mark. Sleep on it; let the dust settle. Then give Bridget a ring tomorrow and explain everything.” She glanced at her watch then and got to her feet. “It’s late, and you should get some rest. Will you be okay if I leave you?” Mark nodded. “Right, well, I’ll see myself out.” 

“Becky?” Mark hesitated. “Thank you. . . for everything.” 

Rebecca smiled; then leaned in to hug him again. “You’re welcome. I’m glad I could help.” She gave him a swift peck on the cheek before pulling back. “Sleep tight.” 

Alone again, Mark Ignored the voice of caution in his head, poured himself another drink, leaned his head on his hand, and closed his eyes. Rebecca’s suggestion to ring Bridget in the morning was a sensible one, but all Mark’s remaining sense had been dissolved in scotch hours ago. Without pausing to think, he reached for the phone and dialed Bridget’s number; not surprisingly, he got her answerphone, and before he could reconsider, the words were spilling out of his mouth. 

“Bridget, um, it’s me; it’s Mark. I was just calling to see if you, uh, got home safely, and to—fuck, I’m saying this badly. Listen, about tonight—with Rebecca—it wasn’t what you think. I’ll explain everything if you’ll just—would you call me? I’m really, really sorry. . . about everything. Please call me, and Bridget. . . I love you.” His last conscious thought was the recollection of Bridget standing before him—determinately, defiantly fighting for herself because as she put it, he couldn’t muster the strength to fight for her, and he wondered dully, as he slipped into oblivion, if she were right. 

* * *

Mark came to slowly, struggling to break the surface of the fog that had enveloped him. As full consciousness returned, he felt convinced that sharp fingers were repeatedly jabbing his skull, and with a groan, he closed his eyes against the pain and buried his head in the sofa cushions. Now he came to think of it, how had he come to be there anyway and, he realized, still in yesterday’s clothes? Yesterday; in a rush, the memories flooded him—Bridget, the argument, and his alcohol-lubricated conversation with Rebecca. Given how he currently felt, he could only deduce that he’d continued, unwisely, to drown his sorrows after she’d left and that his one-person pity party had concluded with him passing out on the sofa. He desperately needed a shower, a pain-reliever, and a cup of coffee and was determining in which order to obtain them when his head throbbed in protest at the sound of someone at his door accompanied by his ringing mobile. Wincing as he pulled himself into a sitting position, he decided to deal first with the phone call. 

“Darcy,” he croaked automatically. 

“Mark, it’s Becky. Is this a bad time?” 

“Becky, hello. No, of course not. I’m sorry.” 

“You sound exhausted.” 

“You could say that.” 

“I hope it’s not too forward of me, but I wanted to pop over—see how you were feeling.” 

Well, that was one mystery solved.

“You, um, aren’t at my front door, perchance?” 

“I am, actually,” murmured Rebecca. “I’m really sorry. I know I probably should have phoned first. I just wanted to look in on you, and I got worried when you didn’t answer the door. You’re usually up and about long before this.” 

Squinting at his watch, Mark realized it was just past 10.00. “Right. Hang on. Just. . . give me a minute.” With no time for damage control, he combed his fingers through his hair and endeavored to smooth his wrinkled shirt before going to the door and ushering Rebecca inside. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “How are you feeling? You look a mess.” 

“That should answer your question, then,” said Mark. 

“Rough night, I’m guessing,” Rebecca commented, perching beside him on the sofa and scrutinizing his rumpled appearance. 

Mark scrubbed his hands over his face. “Apparently.” 

“Look, why don’t you grab a shower? I’ll make coffee, and then we can talk before you call Bridget.” 

Something stirred at the back of Mark’s mind—a smoky wisp of memory that dissolved before he could grasp it. “That’s probably a good idea. I need to clear my head before I even think about talking to Bridget, and that’s assuming she’ll even want to listen.” 

“She will, Mark. I’m sure she will. She’s hurting right now, but only because she loves you, I think.” 

“You seem to really understand her,” he murmured. 

“Well, I don’t know.” Rebecca blushed and lowered her eyes. “It’s just my impression, really. She just seems so open and genuine and, well. . .” Her blush deepened. “I think she’s pretty fantastic. I’m a bit jealous of you, actually.” 

“Oh, I. . . um. . .” Mark tried to summon words, but none of them seemed the write shape to fill the silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca added hastily, resting a hand on his arm. “that came out wrong. I shouldn’t have said it. I wouldn’t want you thinking—but I should just shut up now, probably.” 

“I. . . had no idea,” he stammered. 

“Well, admitting I fancied your girlfriend wasn’t really something I’d planned to tell you. I’ve probably made you feel uncomfortable.” 

“Well,” Mark admitted, “I certainly feel guilty now for laying all of this on you.” 

“It’s the least I could do,” she replied. “I’m sort of the reason you’re in this mess to begin with.” 

“Of course you aren’t,” said Mark. “This wasn’t your fault. It was mine, for being a complete idiot.” 

“It’s just, well, I hate seeing what this is doing to you, but I can’t help feeling sorry for Bridget too. I’m not trying to say you don’t deserve her or anything,” she added hurriedly, “but if you really care for her, she deserves to know exactly how you feel. Don’t just tell her; show her. She’s just such a genuinely lovely person—honest and funny and, you know, like you said, she’s real, and that’s such a rare thing to find. I felt a bit bowled over the first time I met her, like a tornado had just blown in.” 

Mark smiled. “yes, she does tend to have that effect on people.” 

“Right,” Rebecca said brusquely, getting to her feet. “Why don’t I make that coffee? You freshen up. I’m sure you’ll feel much better after you’ve had a shower.” 

Mark nodded and stood as well. “Becky, listen, I know I’ve said this before, but thank you for being here.” 

Rebecca kissed his cheek. “It’s what friends do,” she said, “and you seemed like you needed one.” 

After Mark had gone upstairs, Rebecca began to make her way to the kitchen when she heard someone at the door, and without thinking she went to answer it, coming face to face, as she’d suspected, with Bridget. Bridget looked as if she hadn’t had a much better night than Mark had; her eyes were slightly red, and she appeared to have made a brave but ultimately fruitless effort to keep from crying as she’d applied her makeup. When she caught sight of Rebecca, her eyes widened in confusion, and she blushed, lowering her gaze. 

“Um, hi,” she squeaked, and Rebecca longed to embrace her. It cut her to see Bridget looking so wilted and forlorn, and she realized with a twinge of guilt that her presence was the cause of it. With tremendous effort, she manufactured a bright smile. 

“Bridget, hi!” 

“I was just, uh, looking for Mark.” 

“Of course you were,” said Rebecca. “He’s in the shower. Why don’t you come in?” The moment she spoke, she wished she could have taken back her words; the flash of pain in Bridget’s eyes said plainly that she’d formed entirely the wrong conclusion about Rebecca’s presence in the house. 

“Oh, well, I don’t know. I mean, he called me last night and left me a message, and I just thought. . .” 

Rebecca frowned. “He called you? That’s odd; he never mentioned that to me. When I left him last night, he said he was going to call you this morning.” 

“He did, but I just didn’t feel ready to—wait. Hang on. You were here last night?” 

“Yes, after you left, he called and asked if I’d come round.” 

“And you’re. . . here now,” Bridget said slowly, “but you left, and then—okay, what the fuck is going on here?” 

Taking her hand, Rebecca gently drew her into the house. “Bridget, please come in. Let me explain everything. I know I’m probably the last person in the world you want to hear from right now, but there’s an explanation, I swear, and it’s not what you think.” Bridget allowed herself to be led inside and steered to the sofa. Rebecca sat down beside her and bowed her head to compose her thoughts before speaking. 

“Bridget, I’m not sleeping with Mark. I can understand why you’d think that. I know all of this looks suspicious, but I don’t care for him at all in that way, and even if I did, he’d hardly notice, he’s so in love with you.” 

“I’m sorry,” said Bridget, “but I’m not sure exactly how I can believe you.” 

Rebecca wondered how best to state her case; then suddenly, impulsively, she leaned forward and kissed Bridget on the mouth—softly, tentatively, allowing her lips to linger for just a moment. When she pulled back and glimpsed Bridget’s expression of astonishment, she covered her face with her hands. 

“Oh God, Bridget, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

Bridget looked down, toying with a tiny hole in her sweater. “Um,” she said finally, “so you’re, I mean you. . .” 

“Care for women in general,” answered Rebecca. “And you in particular,” she added, blushing. “I’m sorry. I know you’re in love with Mark, and I wouldn’t want to come between you or anything. I wouldn’t want to hurt either of you that way. I just. . . wanted you to know and--” “Hang on,” interrupted Bridget. “Does Mark know?” 

Rebecca nodded. “It’s partially my fault he never said anything to you. I told him in confidence; I’m not really comfortable with anyone else knowing at the office.” 

“Oh god, no!” Bridget exclaimed. “I can’t imagine what those fat, bald, Tory, upper-class twits would make of it.” The giggle burst from Rebecca before she could suppress it. “Sorry,” Bridget said sheepishly. 

“No, no!” laughed Rebecca. “It was brilliant! That’s what I like about you, Bridget. You just say what you think and what you feel—whatever’s in your head and your heart, regardless of what anyone else thinks.” 

“But that’s precisely why things could never really work out with Mark. I can’t make it in his world, and he knows that. That’s probably why--” her voice quavered, “why he doesn’t want to marry me.” 

Rebecca shook her head. “No, I think you’ve got it all wrong, Bridget. Mark isn’t as narrow-minded as some of his colleagues—people like Horatio, for example. He wouldn’t tell you this, because he’s far too focused on playing the game and keeping up appearances, but have you ever wondered why he hasn’t got many close friends in chambers?” 

Bridget chewed her bottom lip as she considered. “I’ve thought about it sometimes,” she admitted. 

“It’s because deep down, sometimes I think he agrees with you.” 

“Mark would never say the sort of things I said to Horatio,” Bridget protested. 

“No, you’re right, but he admires you for saying them. That’s why he loves you, I think, because whatever you do, whatever you say, it comes from your heart.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Look, Bridget.” Impulsively, Rebecca reached for her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. 

“When Mark called me last night, he was devastated. He felt terrible about letting you form the wrong idea about me, and he wanted to tell you everything, but he didn’t want to break his word to me.”

Bridget managed a weak smile. “That sounds about right. Noble, moral, dependable Mark Darcy, but he can be such a stupid arsse.” 

“Still, it could be worse,” said Rebecca. “If he is an idiot sometimes, at least he’s an honest one.” Bridget nodded. “Look,” Rebecca continued, “I don’t know Mark as well as you do, but I think it’s possible he’s never really been in love before—not the way he’s in love with you, and that’s got to be scary and wonderful all at the same time. I think he just needs time to get used to the idea.” 

“Well, I was searching for just the right way to articulate that,” came Mark’s voice as he entered the room, “but I think I prefer your version.” Both women looked up as he drew near; Rebecca smiled, but Bridget quickly dropped her gaze. 

“Bridget,” he said gently. 

“Hi,” she whispered. “I, um, got your message.” 

Mark’s brows drew together in concentration. “My. . . message?” 

Bridget nodded. “Last night, you left me a message and, well--” She hesitated, glancing at Rebecca. “You just asked me to call you so you could explain everything. I thought maybe I’d just come round instead, so we could talk.” 

“I see.” Mark’s gaze shifted between Bridget and Rebecca, who cleared her throat and got to her feet. 

“Right, well, I should be going. I know you two have a lot to talk about.” She went to Mark, gave him a quick hug and pecked his cheek, then offered Bridget a warm smile. “Good luck.” 

Alone with Bridget, Mark hesitated; then took Rebecca’s vacated space on the sofa. Their eyes met, wavered, then locked again. 

“Bridget, I--.” Mark’s apology died on his lips as Bridget flung her arms around his neck and took his mouth in a long, deep kiss that left a vague buzzing sensation in his brain, equally intoxicating but far more pleasant than last night’s scotch. 

“I forgive you, by the way,” she whispered, pulling back and smiling up at him. 

“I’d just about formed that conclusion, but thank you for clarifying.” Leaning back on the sofa, Mark hooked an arm around Bridget’s waist and rested his cheek against the top of her head as she snuggled against his side.

“I’m surprised you came round,” he murmured, lifting one hand to stroke her cheek. “glad, but surprised.” 

“I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you when you rang last night, although judging by your message, I expect I wouldn’t have got much sense out of you if I had.” 

Mark winced. “I expect you’re right. It probably would have been wiser if I’d taken Rebecca’s advice and waited until the morning to phone, but I couldn’t bear the way we left things—that I just let you walk away like that.” 

“Why did you?” Bridget asked. “That was the part where you were supposed to run after me and convince me to stay, and then we’d have had spectacular sex, you know, like in the movies.” 

Mark pulled her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I felt too wrong-footed to try to reason with you, and frankly, I was angry. I can’t pretend your accusations didn’t hurt. I knew it wasn’t entirely your fault, but I still felt hurt. Then I hated myself for letting you go—for not trying to explain myself, because it felt like my inaction was just proving your point; I couldn’t muster the strength to fight for you.” 

“it was a terrible thing to say,” Bridget admitted, “but honestly, in that moment, and after I left, I really felt that way. I didn’t think you cared enough to show me how you felt. Then I got your message, and I’ve never heard you so upset. I was still angry with you, but I also started to feel a bit guilty about all those things I said. I mean, I had no idea about Rebecca, obviously, but to just start hurling accusations at you like that—it was wrong of me.” 

“You were just drawing conclusions based on the evidence in front of you—circumstantial evidence, mind you, but not entirely illogical.” 

Bridget giggled. “Don’t you ever give your barrister brain a rest?” 

“You wouldn’t have me any other way,” he murmured against her ear. 

“No, you’re probably right.” 

“Besides,” he continued, “it was my fault, really.” 

“But I should have just trusted you!” 

“I wish you had,” Mark said gently, “but I understand now how the situation must have looked to you without the proper context. That’s why I rang Rebecca back after you left; she came round, I told her what happened, and she helped me see it all from your perspective.” 

“Speaking of which, what was she doing here this morning? I came round expecting you to explain everything away, and then she answered the door, all airy-fairy and morning fresh, telling me you were in the shower and, well, you know, without the, um, proper context. . .” 

“Oh God.” In spite of himself, Mark began to laugh. 

“Mark! It wasn’t funny! How would you have felt if you’d come round to my flat after we had a fight and Daniel Cleaver answered the door?” Mark’s jaw tensed. “Okay, not the best example, but you see my point.” 

He nodded, the corners of his mouth twitching again. “You’re right. I’m sorry for laughing, love. That must have been terribly awkward, and I know it wasn’t your fault, but honestly, you have the absolute worst timing of anyone I’ve ever met, and I love you for it,” he added, lowering his head to kiss away the pout forming on her lips. “I don’t think I ever appreciated how boring my life was before you came into it.” 

“You still didn’t answer my question,” prompted Bridget. 

“She was worried about me,” Mark explained simply. 

“I was too, actually. That’s part of the reason I came round instead of just returning your call. Exactly how drunk were you last night?” 

“Bridget, do you really think you’re in a position to lecture anyone about over-imbibing?” For answer, she elbowed him in the ribs, and he gave a resigned sigh. “Put it this way. I had no memory of calling you last night until you mentioned it.” 

Bridget nodded. “Right. We’ll just leave it there, then.” 

“I’d appreciate it.” He took her hand, cradling it between both of his. “Bridget, listen, about last night—it was wrong of me to dismiss your concerns the way I did. I made it seem as if I wasn’t taking you seriously when really I was just frustrated.” 

“Honestly, if you’d just told me you weren’t having an affair with Rebecca, I’d probably have believed you; I wanted to believe you, but your answer was so evasive. It made you seem guilty when all you were trying to do was honor a promise.” 

“Well, that was part of it,” said Mark, “but the truth is, I was angry with you for not trusting me; I was hurt that you could even entertain the possibility that I’d be unfaithful to our relationship. I’d have found a way to explain myself, but then you threw me completely off-balance. One moment you were accusing me of having an affair with Rebecca, and the next you were asking me if I wanted to marry you. I couldn’t think straight.” 

Bridget lowered her eyes. “I don’t know what made me ask that. I was afraid, I guess—afraid our whole relationship was going to fall apart at the seams, and I was just grabbing at strings trying to keep it together, but it came out as an ultimatum. It was a stupid thing to ask.” 

“No, it wasn’t. It was honest. That mightn’t have been the most appropriate moment to throw the question at me, but I expected it would have come up eventually, and if we hadn’t started arguing about other things, we’d probably have had to address it since our mothers were kind enough to raise the subject.” 

“It was silly of me, though, springing it on you like that. You’re the last person in the world to rush headlong into a marriage when, you know. . .” She punctuated her sentence with a shrug. “I’ve wondered sometimes if you’d ever even want to get married again, but then, well. . .” She paused, biting her lower lip. “Mark, can I ask you something?” He nodded. “It’s silly, really, but something I’ve been curious about. You’ve got this unbelievably gigantic house, which could really do with redecorating by the way, but we’ll get to that another time.” 

Mark chuckled at this. “I’ve never really given much thought to the ambiance, frankly.” Cupping her cheek in his hand and gently tilting her face up so their eyes met, he added, “No one’s ever really been around to notice it. I’ve hardly been here since I bought the place. It’s always been more sort of a command-post than a home.” 

“But that’s just it,” said Bridget. “You don’t need all this space, really, for yourself. Why bother if you’re not going to do anything with it?” Her words awoke a thought deep in the recesses of Mark’s mind—one that had lain there, dormant, waiting for the right touch to bring it to life: a warm fire, the chatter of friends, the laughter of children, phantoms that flitted in and out of the corners of the empty house. Yet in the center of it all, clearer and brighter than the shadows waiting to materialize, was Bridget. A rush of hope and possibility flooded his heart, so powerful that he had to swallow back the prickle of tears rising in his throat. 

“I have thought about that sometimes,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve wondered if somewhere, subconsciously, I had a vision for this place. The truth is, if I want it to be fuller, richer, more a place to live than to exist, I have to make that effort. I have to take steps to create the home and the life I want, and until recently, I didn’t have that desire. Anyone can have a house, but it takes work to build a home.” Bridget tried to speak, but he gently laid a finger over her lips. “My conversation with Rebecca last night forced me to do some serious thinking. I think, without intending to, I’ve treated our relationship—treated you the way I’ve treated this house, and perhaps that’s why you asked me what you did. You didn’t realize it at in the heat of the moment, and nor did I, but you were challenging me to step back and evaluate the relationship and the part I was willing to play in it. It can’t just exist; it can’t become the wonderful, amazing thing I think it has the potential to become without work.” Tear’s swam in Bridget’s eyes and glistened on her lashes, and he brushed them away with the pad of his thumb. “I’m in love with you, Bridget, but if I’ve learned one lesson from everything that’s happened between us, it’s that I need to learn how to love you.” 

Bridget nodded. “I think we both have a lot to learn if we want to make this work. We both came into this relationship with our own baggage, with our own hurt, and we have to learn to appreciate how those experiences shape the way we see the relationship without holding them against each other.” 

“I want this to work, Bridget,” Mark whispered, brushing his lips against her ear. 

Smiling, she snuggled closer to him and rested her head against his chest. “So do I.” 

“There’s just one thing though,” he added. “Hardly worth mentioning at this juncture, but well, it occurred to me, if we do decide to get married, we might think of tranquilizing the mothers before we break the news.” 

Bridget giggled. “Don’t think I hadn’t already considered it.” 

* * *

## December, One Year Later

Mark paced the length of the bedroom for what felt like the umpteenth time, alternately glancing at his watch and combing his fingers through his hair. The fact that Bridget’s preening ritual had put them slightly behind time hardly surprised him, and normally he’d have withdrawn to his study and made productive use of the wait-time. Tonight, however, he could focus on nothing but the hands of his watch, which appeared to mock him by remaining stationary, and each interminable minute felt like purgatory. More for something to occupy his hands than out of necessity, he adjusted the knot of his tie and flicked an imaginary speck of lint from the cuff of his shirtsleeve. 

“You look fine, hon,” said Bridget as she stepped up from behind and wound her arms around him. “But lose the scowl. You’re not auditioning for the BBC.” 

Mark gave the tie one last twitch before turning to face her. “I’m sorry. I’m just a bit nervous.” 

“Why? It’s only my work holiday party, and it’s not as if you haven’t met any of my colleagues.” 

“I know that. It just feels different tonight, somehow.” 

Bridget smiled. “Because it’s our first appearance as ‘smug going-to-be-marrieds’”?” Before he could respond, she rose on her toes to kiss him. “Relax, sweetie. You’re going to be fine. They’ll only give you a hard time once they’ve started drinking.” 

“That’s not particularly reassuring,” Mark commented. 

Bridget laughed. “I’m joking.” 

“It’s just, your work culture is so different than mine; your colleagues are so different than mine.” 

“Because they actually have personalities?” Mark frowned. “Oh, come on, Mark. You know I’m right, even if you don’t want to admit it.” 

“This isn’t the moment to discuss it, and in any case, that wasn’t my point. Sometimes I just feel, well. . .” 

“Ill-qualified to recommend yourself to strangers,” quipped Bridget. 

“I expect I don’t need to point this out,” Mark said slowly, struggling to suppress a sigh of frustration, “but you’re not helping.” 

“Well, now you know how I felt at my first law society dinner.” When Mark said nothing, Bridget leaned in to wrap her arms around him again. “You’re lovely and charming and brilliant, and everyone’s going to be so impressed with my top barrister fiance.” Mark’s expression finally relaxed into a smile. During the better part of the last year, Mark had made good on his resolve to cultivate a richer, more fulfilling life. Several months ago, he’d decided to ask Bridget to move in with him, and as he’d watched the pieces of his life slide into place, he knew, with increasing certainty, what he needed to do to complete the picture. Several weeks had passed now since they’d announced their engagement, and as Mark reached for Bridget’s hand, he smiled down at that final puzzle piece—the diamond glinting on her ring finger like a beacon of promise. He slid his gaze over the midnight blue cocktail dress that hugged her curves and the simple, teardrop diamond pendant that rested tastefully but alluringly above her cleavage. She’d swept her hair up with a silver comb, and tiny, heart-shaped diamond glinted in her ears. 

“You look fantastic, by the way,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her lightly on the cheek, “and this makes a rather nice touch, if I do say so myself,” he added, studying the ring again before raising her hand to his lips. Bridget gave his hand a squeeze; then glanced at the clock. 

“Come on. We should go. It’s late enough now that Richard Finch will probably be drunk enough for me to make fun of him without him realizing it and demanding I clear out my desk on Monday.” 

* * *

Several hours later, Mark found himself weaving through a throng of people in various states of inebriation, few of whom he recognized and none of whom he had any idea how to converse with. He’d temporarily, and now regrettably detached himself from Bridget to go in search of a drink, underestimating the difficulty of relocating her amidst glamourous television personalities, smart young whippersnapper researchers, and powerful producers all jostling for center-stage in a room that seemed barely able to contain the energy levels or the egos. Mark had had occasion to meet several of Bridget’s colleagues in the course of their courtship and had accompanied her to a handful of work functions, but somehow, attending the office holiday party as a newly-engaged couple felt like a litmus test of sorts. He’d just made a circle of the room and begun to wonder whether Bridget had stealthily slipped away for a smoke when he heard a familiar voice just behind him. 

“You look a bit lost, Mark.” 

Turning in the direction of the speaker, Mark smiled in mingled surprise and relief. “Becky?” 

Returning his smile, Rebecca took his hand in both of hers and leaned in to peck his cheek. “It’s so good to see you, Mark.” 

“And you,” he replied, pressing her hand warmly. “But what on earth are you doing here? Bit of a career change, isn’t it?” he added, gesturing around the room. 

Rebecca laughed. “No, no, it’s nothing like that! I’m here with someone, actually.” Several months earlier, Mark had learned of a position with a larger law firm, handling their press and public relations; the pay scale was slightly higher and the growth potential more promising, and knowing Rebecca to be highly competent and capable of a far more challenging career than the position she’d held in his office, he’d encouraged her to try for it. The change, he thought, would do her good and widen her horizons, though little had he known just how true his prediction would prove. 

“How have you been?” he asked now. “Have you got thoroughly settled in at work? They’re treating you well, I hope.” 

Rebecca’s smile widened. “It’s been wonderful, Mark. I can’t thank you enough! You must have given them a glowing recommendation.” 

“No more than you deserved,” he said gently. “I’m glad things are working out so well for you.” 

“And you,” said Rebecca. “I’ve just seen Bridget, and she told me your wonderful news. I’m really, really pleased for you both.” 

“Thank you,” Mark murmured, his heart warming at the light of sincere congratulations shining in her eyes. “Speaking of Bridget,” he added, “I should probably locate her.” 

“Oh,” said Rebecca, “I know where you’ll find her, and in fact, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.” As they crossed the room together, Mark spotted Bridget in conversation with another woman dressed simply but tastefully in a red silk blouse and black trousers. Her honey-colored hair was swept back to reveal a rosy complexion and bright green eyes that danced as she chatted animatedly to Bridget. 

“I really do love the whole concept of Feng Shui,” she was saying. “I feel like it keeps things in balance, but the problem is always knowing just where to put the wastepaper basket.” 

“Oh God, I know!” Bridget exclaimed. “I mean, if you put it in your work corner, you might get the sack.” 

“Exactly, and if you put it in your relationship corner, you might wind up being chucked.” 

“Well, I’m pretty sure that’s not something you need to worry about,” said Rebecca. Both women turned at the sound of her voice. 

“Becky, there you are. I was wondering where you’d got to.” 

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear. Mark, this is Caroline; Caroline, you’ve heard me mention Mark Darcy.” 

Caroline’s eyes lit with interest as she extended a hand. “Of course. Mark, it’s so lovely to meet you. Becky speaks very highly of you, and I’ve heard all about you from Bridget, obviously.” 

“There, Mr Perfect Pants,” said Bridget, stepping to Mark’s side and slipping a hand into the crook of his arm. “You see? Your reputation precedes you.” 

“Becky and I are very indebted to you both,” Caroline continued. “We’d never have met if it hadn’t been for you.” 

“Caroline joined the station a few months ago,” Bridget explained. “Camera crew. One of the partners in Rebecca’s office was being interviewed about a high-profile case they’d just won, and that’s how Rebecca and Caroline met.” 

“Becky was in charge of overseeing all the arrangements,” said Caroline, “and when we met, we got to talking and just sort of clicked, but I’d never have done anything about it if it hadn’t been for Bridget.” 

“Oh, I didn’t do anything, really,” Bridget protested. “I only mentioned that I knew Rebecca slightly because she’d worked with you prior to her current job and that she’s really lovely. Caroline was going on and on about her, and I finally just said if she fancied her, why not ask her for a date?” 

“Actually,” corrected Caroline, “her precise words were ‘Okay, look, if you want my advice, just go for it. It’s clear you fancy her, and I think she fancies you, and I happen to know from personal experience that she’s a great kisser, so really, you’ve got nothing to lose.’” Mark saw Bridget and Rebecca share a brief glance before quickly averting their eyes; Bridget, he noticed, had blushed at Caroline’s comment, while a faint smile played over Rebecca’s lips. 

“Anyway,” said Rebecca, linking her arm through Caroline’s and smoothing over the awkward silence, “Caroline took Bridget’s advice, and the rest is history, but if you hadn’t nudged me toward that job opening, and if Bridget hadn’t encouraged Caroline, we might not be standing here now.” 

Deciding that now wasn’t the proper moment to inquire further about Caroline’s comment, Mark mentally shelved the question as the conversation continued. Rebecca quizzed Mark about some of her former colleagues, Mark inquired about several of his acquaintances at her new office, and Bridget and Caroline kept up a running commentary about the various members of staff that trickled past. Inevitably, talk turned to wedding plans. 

“So, have you thought about a date?” asked Rebecca. 

“Not yet,” replied Bridget, “but we’re going to have to get on it soon, or the mothers will just take the whole thing out of our hands and tell us when and where to turn up. If my mum had her way, the wedding would be next week. The sooner the better.” 

“I think,” said Mark, slipping an arm around her waist, “you grossly underestimate your mother’s fervent desire to have us properly settled down. If she’d had her way, she’d have joined our hands herself first thing when we met at the turkey curry buffet.” 

Caroline’s eyes sparkled. “You were that keen on each other?” 

“Oh, God no!” laughed Bridget. “at first, I think the only thing that united us was our mutual dislike, but obviously it was just misdirected sexual tension. We got there in the end.” 

“It’s funny how things turn out,” observed Caroline. “Opportunities have a way of falling into our laps when we least expect them to.” 

“She means that quite literally,” said Rebecca. “I spilled a glass of wine on her during our first date.” 

“I’ve read somewhere that’s supposed to be good luck,” said Bridget. 

“Well,” Mark quipped, “if that’s true, then I’m marrying the luckiest woman on the planet.” 

They chatted for a few more minutes until Caroline and Rebecca excused themselves to circulate. As Caroline exchanged farewells with Bridget, Rebecca turned to Mark. 

“I’m so glad we ran into each other.” 

“Likewise,” said Mark, pulling her briefly into a hug. “It’s lovely to see you so happy, Becky. I’m so pleased for you. You deserve it.” 

“Thank you.” As Rebecca leaned in to kiss his cheek, she whispered, “I know what you’re wondering about, by the way. If you’re curious, just ask Bridget. It’s actually a funny story.” Knowing Bridget, Mark reflected, he couldn’t even begin to imagine. 

* * *

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Bridget tossed the question at Mark as she slipped out of her heels and flopped onto the edge of the bed, massaging each foot in turn. 

“Admittedly, no,” he replied. 

Bridget kissed his cheek as he sat down beside her. “Everyone thought you were lovely, by the way, and I’m glad you had the chance to catch up with Rebecca.” 

Mark nodded. “That was a pleasant surprise,” he agreed. “You might have mentioned she’s dating one of your colleagues, though.” 

Bridget frowned. “Didn’t I? I was sure I did. I must have forgotten.” 

“So it would seem,” said Mark. “Still, it was lovely seeing her. I felt a bit guilty for losing track of her, and I was wondering how she’s been doing. Obviously I needn’t have worried.” 

“I’m curious about something,” said Bridget. “did Rebecca leave her job because of me—because we—I mean because I made things awkward for her, working with you?” 

Mark shook his head. “No, of course she didn’t; why would you think that?” 

“I don’t know. I just wondered. I mean, I know how well you worked together and how much you valued her, and I’d hate to think I sent her packing.” 

“Of course not, darling; that wasn’t it at all,” he assured her, gently enfolding her in his arms. “Truthfully, I didn’t think she was particularly happy, but it had nothing to do with you. She was starting to feel stifled in that environment.” 

“You don’t have to remind me what some of your colleagues are like,” Bridget commented dryly. 

“No, you’ve taken great pains to voice your opinion on that subject, but regarding Rebecca, she’s capable and intelligent, and she deserved a chance to thrive. The job opening I’d heard about seemed like a perfect fit, and I knew the work culture was a bit less, well, conservative. I thought she might be happier—flourish more in a place where she could feel truly comfortable.” 

Bridget smiled. “And you were right,” she said, slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him. 

“What did you think of Caroline, by the way?” 

“I liked her—what little I saw of her, anyway.” 

“She and Rebecca seem to get on well together, don’t they?” 

Mark nodded. “They do, yes, although there was one thing that puzzled me.” 

“Oh, that.” Bridget giggled. “you mean about me snogging Rebecca? That was nothing, but. . .” She paused. “I was sure I told you about that after it happened.” 

“Once again, it would seem you neglected to mention it.”

“Oh, oops.” 

“I’m not going anywhere,” said Mark. “Why not satisfy my curiosity?” 

“It wasn’t anything, really. Do you remember that morning after we argued about me thinking you were having an affair with Rebecca?” He nodded. “Well, she was trying to convince me that she wasn’t sleeping with you, and obviously I came round that morning and saw her there and got completely the wrong idea, so I didn’t exactly believe her, and then she was just kissing me and. . .” 

“I’m guessing that proved her point,” Mark commented. 

“You could say that.” 

“It must have come as quite a surprise.” 

“It did. I mean, there I was, thinking she fancied you, and the entire time, it was actually me she fancied!” 

“Well,” said Mark, sliding his hand along the curve of her hip, “if you think about it, that’s not so surprising; you’re quite an easy person to fall in love with, you know.” 

“And I quite enjoyed the kiss, actually,” she continued. In the act of unfastening the zip on her dress, Mark’s fingers scrabbled with the catch. “Problem?” asked Bridget, arching a brow. 

“No, no, I just, um. . . so you. . . you were serious, then, about what you told Caroline?” 

“Of course I was. I never lie about snogging.” Mark’s hand hovered at the small of Bridget’s back, his mind reeling slightly. 

“Mark, are you okay?” 

“What?” 

Bridget pursed her lips. “Don’t say what; say pardon.” In fact, he said nothing, unsure precisely how to respond. “You’re jealous,” declared Bridget, a teasing glint in her eyes. 

“Nonsense.” 

“You absolutely are.” Bridget took his hand and squeezed it. “I meant what I said; I did enjoy the kiss, but really, it was just a kiss—even if it was a nice one, and I’m sure it’s even nicer with Caroline.” 

“And you, um, know this from personal experience as well?” 

“I do,” she said, touching her lips to his, “because it’s always better kissing someone you really love.” 

Mark smiled. “I agree, and speaking of enjoyable experiences. . .” 

"I think we were in the middle of one,” Bridget murmured as he recommenced the task of undoing her zip. 

“One?” Mark paused in his ministrations to cup her cheek in his hand, lowering his mouth on hers. “I think I can promise you many, many more than one.” 


End file.
